


Can't Say No

by cold_feets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Kid Fic, Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_feets/pseuds/cold_feets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>John comes out of the kitchen brandishing a package of HobNobs.  "Sherlock, if you think I'm going to mind after her, you, whatever it is you're growing in the fridge, <i>plus</i> one of those--"</i>  In which Sherlock and John have a daughter. And kittens, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Say No

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretending this didn't happen because I don't even _read_ kidfic. But this exists in all its domestic and fluffy and OOC glory. I mean, Sherlock and John really shouldn't have a small child with the lives they lead, so I find any application of this trope bends things in to the realm of Really Hard To Believe. And yet here we are.

"Daddy, _look_!"

Bel bursts through the door, drops the basket on to Sherlock's lap, and scrambles up onto his chair to sit beside it.

Sherlock sets his phone safely out of the way and glances down at the basket's contents. "You _didn't_ ," he says to John as he passes, laden with grocery bags.

John smirks and sets the shopping down on the kitchen table.

"Look!" Bel insists again. She lifts a bleary-eyed tabby from the basket and thrusts it in Sherlock's face.

"Yes, I'm looking. I see," Sherlock assures her as he picks fur from his mouth, a smile getting the best of him in spite of it.

John watches as she holds out the squirming kitten until Sherlock takes him from her, his long fingers curling around its tiny body. "This one is Blob," she tells him.

"That's rather unfortunate for you," Sherlock tells the kitten as it lets out a wide yawn and rubs its cheek against his chin.

Bel picks up a grey furball from the basket and clutches it to her chest. "And this one is Mark."

"Named them already, have you?" John calls from the kitchen as he unpacks the sacks. "You'll have to ask Kiran and Elsa first."

"Kiran and Elsa?" Sherlock asks, plucking tiny claws from his shirt as Blob tries to find his way onto his shoulder.

"Round the corner. Relax. They're just on loan for about an hour."

"Daddy, can't I keep one?" Bel asks. "Papa said-"

"Papa said you couldn't," John reminds her. "Don't think you can go give him big eyes and a pout and get him to change my mind."

Bel does just that, and quite masterfully, John has to admit, for someone with only five years of practice in winding the unswayable Sherlock around her finger.

"Mean old Papa," Sherlock whispers loud enough for John to hear.

John comes out of the kitchen brandishing a package of HobNobs. "Sherlock, if you think I'm going to mind after her, you, whatever it is you're growing in the fridge, _plus_ one of those--"

"But Papa! You wouldn't!" Bel slides down to the floor,, Mark still tucked in her arms, and tugs on John's hand until he crouches down at her level. "I would feed him and clean up after him, and you wouldn't have to at all! Promise."

"Go on, John," Sherlock says. "Even I had a pet at her age."

"And I bet you experimented on it."

Bel's eyes go round. "Papa, Daddy isn't going to experiment on the kitty, is he?"

John raises his eyebrows at Sherlock, who lifts Blob up to peer into his face.

"Well, Daddy?" John prompts.

"Nothing invasive," he decides after a moment.

"Sherlock."

John's barely got the warning out before Bel shoves the kitten she's holding into his arms and rushes to snatch the other from Sherlock's hands. "Daddy, no!"

"I experiment on you, and you don't mind," Sherlock says.

He's teasing (John made him promise at the start-- _no experiments, absolutely out of the question_ \--but Sherlock rather sees everything about children as an experiment: different variables produce different results. Broccoli results in a tantrum. Lewis Carroll means bad dreams. She never sleeps in her own bed when one of them is out late). Still, her eyes go wide, and she takes a step back, closer to John.

"He doesn't mean it, love," John assures her, pressing a kiss into her hair and shooting Sherlock a warning look. "Bit scary, Sherlock."

Sherlock looks away and nods, and John can see him filing the information away. It's the one line he still crosses too easily, and John can understand that. Sherlock fears nothing, or at least he did until John came into his life. It's difficult for him to understand what's frightening to a five year old. "Sometimes Daddy's scary," Bel had told him once, half asleep, "but it's okay because he scares all the baddies away." John's heart had ached in his chest, partly because no child should fear one of their parents and partly because he couldn't help but agree with her.

John settles himself on the floor and pulls Bel down into his lap. She runs her hand over the back of the grey kitten climbing up John's shoulder, Sherlock's comment already forgotten.

"Please, Papa?" she asks again.

Sherlock slides down to join them, brushing Bel's hair back behind her ear as she presses her nose into the tabby's fur. "What do you think? We can make it work. You mind after me, I mind after her, she minds after the cat. Division of labor."

"Oh yes, I'm sure that will end well for all of us."

But Sherlock only grins in response because somehow, in that Sherlock way he has, he already knows that John will say yes.

"Are they spoken for?"

John shakes his head. "Not yet." He sighs, beaten, and looks back down at a little girl who is clearly in love.

"One. You can pick one. And we have to check with Elsa and Kiran first. And he might have to stay with his mummy a bit longer before he can come live with us."

Bel already has her arms around his neck, a dozen _thank you thank you thank you_ 's being pressed into his cheek, and then just as quickly, she throws herself at Sherlock and gives him the same treatment. Then she grabs a kitten in each arm, heading for the door.

"And where are you off to?"

"I'm going to show the kitties my room!"

"Isabel!" John calls up after her. "You're only keeping one!"

Naturally, there's no answer except the thump of small feet up the stairs. John slumps forward until his forehead is resting on Sherlock's shoulder. "I think we just adopted two cats."

"I don't think I had much to do with it at all," Sherlock says, and John can hear the smirk in his voice. "They were staying the second you let her bring them into the flat."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"You've been saying that going on seven years now." Sherlock ducks down and presses a kiss to John's mouth. "Hasn't come to pass yet, as far as I'm aware."

"You think you're quite smart, don't you?" John asks, twisting around and settling back against Sherlock fully.

"Oh, I'm frightfully clever," Sherlock agrees with a grin.

"Gone soft, you have. Cats? And you hoovered while we were out. Don't think I didn't notice. It's pathetic. You're domesticated and absolutely soft."

But Sherlock just turns his head and kisses him again. "None of them bad things to be."

"See?" John says. "Soft."

"Oh, shut up."


End file.
